The Hometown Hero Returns (15 page)

“How long has it been since she admitted her to the hospital?”

Mari gathered the loose sheet around her and sat up in the bed, her heart starting to hammer rapidly in her chest.

“Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah. We can be in Harbor Town in a few hours. Traffic should be nothing right now…I know, I understand…I still want to come… Yeah, okay. See you soon.”

He hit the End button.

“What is it?” Mari asked.

“It's my mom.” He met her eyes before he set the cell phone on the table. “She had a heart attack.”

“Oh, my God—” Mari whispered.

“It's not bad,” he said hastily, hearing her shock. “She's going to be fine. That was Liam calling. It was relatively mild. The cardiologist told Liam and Colleen she's had high blood pressure and high cholesterol for a while now, but according to the doctor, it hasn't improved with treatment. The cardiologist implied my mom hadn't been taking her medications.”

“Did you and Liam and Colleen know—”

“No. She never told us. I thought she was completely healthy,” Marc interrupted grimly. “She
looks
so healthy. She's so slender and active. It's the last thing I would have expected.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” he said in a flat tone.

Mari's chest ached for him. She knew what he was experiencing.

“Anyway…Liam says they'll likely release her tomorrow, but I still want to go.”

“Of course,” Mari said. She started to rise from bed when Marc put his hand on her forearm, halting her. She looked over at him.

“This doesn't change anything. Do you understand?”

He seemed to regret the harshness of his tone. He closed his eyes and exhaled. “I only meant… I'm sorry, Mari.”

“Don't apologize,” she said fervently. “I understand completely. Of
course
you have to go. It's family.”

He opened his eyes. “Yeah. But I'm sorry nonetheless.”

She nodded and hurried out of bed. The vivid dreams about telling Marc about the baby slowly faded to the background.

T
hey arrived back in Harbor Town that evening at about six. Mari insisted upon accompanying Marc to the hospital.

“I mean… I won't go into your mother's room or anything—that would upset her—but I'd like to be there for you. If you'd like it, anyway.”

Marc had given her a half smile and grabbed her hand. “'Course I want you there.”

Once they'd located the unit where Brigit was staying, Mari told Marc she was going to find them something to drink while he went and saw his mother. Her throat was dry after the long drive. She left him to confer with the nurse and wandered through the corridors of the hospital in search of a vending machine.

When she returned to the unit carrying two orange juices, she found Marc talking to Colleen in the waiting area. They were the only two occupants in the room, their backs turned to her. Mari went still when she heard
the distress in Colleen's tone as she spoke in a quiet, shaking voice to her brother.

“It's my fault,” Colleen said.

“What? How could it be your fault? Don't be ridiculous.”

“All right, maybe it wasn't entirely my doing, but what I said to her certainly didn't help matters,” Colleen said in a hard voice. She swept her long hair over one shoulder in an anxious gesture and leaned back in the chair. “It was after I spoke to her that she got all quiet. Then her complexion went sort of gray and she clutched at herself like this.” Colleen demonstrated by grabbing at the area between her left chest and shoulder. “She said she was having a cramp. It scared the hell out of me.”

Marc put an arm around his sister for reassurance.

“Yeah, it must have been scary. But it wasn't because of anything you did or said. The doctor said this has been building for a while. Mom hasn't been attending to her treatment.”

“What I said didn't help any.”

“I doubt that. What were you talking about?” Marc asked, seeming disbelieving and curious all at once.

Feeling guilty for eavesdropping upon the conversation, Mari had stepped forward to identify herself when Colleen spoke in a low, flat tone.

“I told her about my new job. I told her about Mari starting up The Family Center. At first, I thought her silence just signaled her disapproval, but then I noticed her complexion, how odd she looked—”

Marc suddenly looked over his shoulder, his blue eyes pinning her. Had she made a sound? Mari thought perhaps she had.

A sound of distress.

“Mari,” Colleen said breathlessly as she stood.

“Mari?” Marc asked, his voice louder than Colleen's had been.

Mari blinked. How long had she been standing there while her heart hammered in her ears? Marc was coming toward her, his brows drawn together. She stupidly offered him a bottle of juice.

“It's not very cold,” she said. “I think the vending machine was broken.”

He looked at her like she'd been speaking in Swahili. He put his hand on her upper arm. She started. She hated the way his jaw hardened at her instinctive recoil from his touch, but there was nothing Mari could do.

That old feeling of helplessness had risen in her again.

“I think I should go,” she said quietly to Marc.

“Because of what you just heard?” Marc demanded, blue eyes flashing.

“Mari, please don't,” Colleen said hastily. “I was feeling sorry for myself. I'm sure what I said to Mom had nothing to do with—”

“You don't believe that,” Mari interrupted levelly. She turned back to Marc and handed him the other bottle of juice. He seemed so stunned by unfolding events that he accepted it automatically.

“I'll take you home,” he said.

“No. I can walk.” She didn't know what had come over her, but she felt strangely calm despite her rapid heartbeat. She met Marc's stare, trying her best to seem reassuring even though she felt powerless at that moment. “Everything will be okay, Marc. I'll get my things from you later. You should see your mother right now.”

Marc looked like he was about to protest when Colleen spoke, sounding a little weary.

“I'll take Mari home. It'll take me five minutes. You should go on in, Marc. Mom's waiting for you.”

Mari didn't glance back when Colleen touched her elbow. They walked away.

When she arrived home, Ryan came down the hallway, bare-chested and holding a butter knife. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a surprised expression.

“I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow.”

“We came back a little early,” Mari said. She parked her rolling suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and placed her fingertips on her eyelids. When she opened them, she was staring at a steely bicep.

“Cool tattoo,” she said dully, examining the artist's rendering of the logo of the Air Force wings morphing into an eagle taking flight. “When did you get that?”

“Two…three years— Who cares?” he asked, interrupting himself impatiently. “Are you okay, Mari?”

“Yeah. I'm just really, really tired. I need to go to bed.” She started up the stairs, but turned back. Ryan was staring at her with something close to alarm. “I'm okay, Ryan. Marc's mom just had a heart attack. It took us by surprise, that's all.”

His mouth dropped open.

“Like I said, I'm just tired. Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I don't want any visitors. No one.”

Ryan nodded, looking somber.

Mari sighed and trudged up the stairs. She was too fatigued to think…to feel. She felt as if weariness had soaked into her very bones.

This was the ending to their magical weekend. Somehow, it didn't surprise her.

Her bedroom faced west, so it was bright with sunshine. She began to draw the curtains. When she reached
the window next to the elm tree, she made sure it was locked before she shut out the remainder of the golden evening light. She thought of how she'd planned to spend that evening in Marc's arms after telling him about her pregnancy.

But the past had a way of sneaking up on you when you least expected it.

The next day Mari stayed to herself. She kept her cell phone turned off. Ryan treated her as if she was recovering from an illness. He seemed like he wanted to question her, but was too sensitive of her mood to interrogate her, for which Mari was thankful. She needed to think.

She was playing her cello at around one o'clock when she paused, hearing tense, male voices downstairs. She held her breath and tried to make out the words.

It was Marc and Ryan. It sounded like they both stood at the front door. Their voices were muffled, but their volume increased with almost every word.

“She doesn't want to see you,” Ryan suddenly shouted, plenty clear enough for her to hear.

“Who the hell are you? Her jailer?” Marc responded, just as aggressively.

“I'm doing what she
asked
me to do, Kavanaugh. She
said
she didn't want to see you.”

Mari hastily set down her bow and started to rise— she wouldn't be surprised, given the animosity between Marc and Ryan, if a fight broke out—but then the screen door banged loudly and silence ensued.

She set aside her cello and raced over to the window. She opened the sash and searched the leafy branches, dreading seeing Marc's face…and longing for it. The robins remained the only occupants of the elm tree.

A moment later, she sat on the edge of her bed. She realized distantly her cheeks were wet with tears. The
memory of studying Marc's face while he slept yesterday afternoon came back to her in graphic detail.

Such a beautiful man.

What parts of Marc would be in their baby? Would their child have his eyes? His sense of humor? His fierce courage?

Thinking about discovering those wonderful characteristics in their child without Marc there to share those moments caused grief and sadness to slice through her like a knife.

She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she was staunching a wound. Tears gushed down her cheeks. She lay on her side on the bed and suffered in solitude.

 

She awoke the next morning regretting the way she'd been avoiding Marc. He deserved better than to be turned away at her front door like an annoying salesman. She resolved to call him later. She wanted to ask him about Brigit. Marc must be worried sick about his mother. It certainly sounded as if her heart attack hadn't been a major one, but why hadn't she been following her doctor's orders?

She had an appointment at the obstetrician's office that afternoon, and she needed to complete a few more things for The Family Center. Eric, Natalie and she had planned for an opening at the end of August. She regretted nothing more than how Brigit Kavanaugh had responded to the news of the project, but Mari would move forward, nevertheless. Hesitation now twined with her determination to open The Family Center, but the idea of stopping now when their intentions were so good seemed very wrong, indeed.

Her appointment at the obstetrician's went quickly, much to Mari's surprise. The obstetrician, Anita Carol, was a friendly, African-American woman, a few years
older than Mari. Mari told her about the bouts of dizziness and nausea, and Dr. Carol recommended frequent, small meals to keep her blood sugar steady and prevent nausea.

She did a quick exam and told Mari make an appointment for an ultrasound. Mari wasn't planning on being in Harbor Town that much longer but she didn't bring that up to the doctor.

“The baby's father can come to the ultrasound, as well,” Dr. Carol said brightly on the way out the door. “We should be able to determine the sex by that time, if you two are interested in knowing.”

Mari remained seated on the chair in the exam room after the doctor left. She rubbed her belly through her jeans, feeling hollow inside…empty…
lonely
at Anita Carol's parting words.

She irritably wiped at her eyes when they stung. How could she possibly cry more when she'd shed bucketfuls of tears yesterday?

She came to a standstill outside of Dr. Carol's office when she saw Brigit Kavanaugh. Brigit also halted abruptly in the hallway.

“Brigit. Are you…are you well?” Mari asked once her lungs unstuck and she could breathe again. She anxiously searched Brigit's face. She would never have guessed Brigit had been in the hospital the day before yesterday for a heart attack. Dressed in jeans and a fashionably belted turquoise tunic, she looked quite healthy.

For a few tense seconds, Mari wondered if their chance meeting was going to a repeat of the one on Main Street. She exhaled in relief when Brigit spoke, albeit stiffly.

“I'm fine. They released me yesterday morning. The doctor says there was no significant damage to my heart.
I'm just here to fill some prescriptions at the hospital pharmacy.”

“Thank God,” Mari whispered.

“You were here for an appointment?” Brigit asked, glancing behind Mari.

“Yes,” Mari mumbled. Too late, she turned and noticed where Brigit stared. The nameplate on the door read Anita Carol, M.D., Obstetrician. Brigit's glance flickered down over Mari's abdomen. For an awkward moment, neither of them spoke.

“I heard from Colleen about the project you're starting for the survivors of substance abuse.”

Mari tried to swallow but her mouth felt too dry. “I…yes. Can we sit down, Brigit?”

Brigit drew herself up tall. “I assure you I'm fine. I feel very healthy. I'm not going to have another heart attack,” Brigit said crisply.

Mari smiled. “Actually, I was asking if we could sit down for me.”

The straight line of Brigit's frown quivered. “Of course,” she said quickly. “Just over here.” She led Mari to a bench in the quiet hospital hallway. “Take a deep breath,” Brigit said briskly once they sat. “You've gone pale as a ghost.”

Mari followed her advice, trying desperately to calm her rioting thoughts. After several seconds of silence, Brigit spoke.

“I don't suppose you could have started this Family Center in San Francisco?”

Mari blinked at the sound of Brigit's wry tone.

“I didn't plan for it in Harbor Town to upset you. I meant for The Family Center to be a positive thing…a healing thing, not a source of upset.”

Brigit looked incredulous. Mari sighed heavily, feeling defeated.

“I'm sorry. I can see you feel otherwise,” she said quietly. “I can only pray you'll eventually believe me when I say I never meant to cause you any serious harm or pain.”

Brigit didn't respond. Perhaps she felt it was unnecessary, given the circumstances.

“I understand you were with Marc in Chicago over the weekend.”

Mari levelly met Brigit's stare. “Yes.”

“He's determined to have you, no matter what I say. He's always been that way, as you probably recall.” The older woman sighed and looked at the opposite wall. She seemed lost in her thoughts. “Once he set his mind to something, Marc always got his way. Even when Derry died, even after all the money for his law school tuition was taken away, Marc just plowed ahead. He went to the University of Michigan instead of Yale where he'd been accepted and planned to go. The tuition was much less expensive, although far from cheap. He worked two jobs and had to take out loans, but he got his degree with honors. Did he tell you that?”

“No,” Mari whispered through leaden lips.

“He wouldn't have said anything, I suppose. Not to you.” She turned and looked at Mari. “You were the one thing he wanted and couldn't have. It doesn't surprise me, the way he's pursuing you. It's in his character, I suppose.”

“You don't admire his determination in this instance,” Mari said.

“Determination? I'd call it stubbornness and pride, wouldn't you?” Brigit shifted her purse onto her shoulder and stood. She hesitated. “Take care, Mari. You don't seem entirely yourself.”

Mari remained seated as Brigit walked away.